


Restraint

by orphan_account



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: (????? kinda???), Accidental Voyeurism, By ''underage'' i mean they're both under 18. no pedophilia here, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Last two featured briefly, M/M, Masturbation, Name-Calling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izumi is sick, and the walls in his house are thin, and Mizutani only has the best of intentions when he decides to visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restraint

When Izumi doesn’t show up at practice, Mizutani feels like something is off.

Well, obviously, when you only have 10 members to practice with, you’re bound to notice every pair of legs not there. But no, this was different. Less of a “something missing” and more like a “something off” or “something weird” or “nothing’s where it should be and my body can’t adjust”.

And worse, he keeps looking at the gate like Izumi will suddenly appear, even though Abe said he hadn’t gone to class and Hamada confirmed that he was sick in bed with a cold. He even sneaks a few peeks during their ending meditation, just in case.

Of course, Izumi doesn’t show up, and Mizutani spends the entire practice feeling like something just isn’t right.

That is, until Mihashi approaches him with papers damp from the sweat on his hands, spouting garbled nonsense that Tajima has to translate.

“The teacher asked him to give Izumi today’s homework, but he doesn’t want to.”

Mihashi nods and shoves the papers into Mizutani’s chest.

“Wait, you want _me_ to take them?” Mizutani asks, incredulous.

Mihashi nods again.

“Why me?”

“Y-you,” Mihashi starts, punctuating each few words with a deep breath, “you two look... kind of, kind of close?”

He reels back after seeing Mizutani’s shocked expression, apologies shooting off of his mouth before Mizutani says a word, but Mizutani just takes the papers from his trembling hands and says “Thanks, I’ll take care of it,” before shooting off.

He only realized once he was halfway to Izumi’s house that he was beaming, and that the weird “something is wrong” feeling had dissipated somewhere during that weird exchange.

Mrs. Izumi is nothing short of delighted to see him.

“My poor Kousuke,” she says as she fixes up some tea, “He’s been just awful. Woke up this morning with a fever and has been sleeping ever since, poor dear. I’m glad a friend stopped by, I’m sure he needs it.”

Then she shoves him up the stairs without even giving him the tea, which was probably rude, but Mizutani can’t bring himself to care. And when she leaves, he has a moment to look at his surroundings.

Sure, Mizutani’s been here once or twice, but it was usually to study, usually with a few other people, and usually with Izumi telling them all to stop dilly-dallying and start doing the math problems before he kicks them out. He’s never really had the chance to snoop before.

...Not that there’s anything worth mentioning, in the end. A few doors leading to the bedrooms and bathroom, a wall clock, a little space with a few chairs and maybe enough room for a kotatsu if it was winter. But nothing too interesting.

And then Mizutani hears a low and muffled curse coming from Izumi’s room.

It’s not loud, but it’s enough to remind Mizutani why he came up here in the first place. He skips over, about to put his hand on the doorknob and bounce through the door unannounced because why not, when he hears another sound.

A grunting sound.

And then a moan.

Mizutani feels his entire face heat up.

And now that he’s close to the door, it’s sort of obvious what’s happening, and the doors must be thin or something because he can _hear_ it, wow, and it’s sort of. Uh.

There’s the faint sound of skin on skin, and then the grunts and curses that spew from Izumi’s (probably open, probably hot) mouth are kind of, the image that appears in Mizutani’s head of Izumi with his legs raised and his hand moving over his crotch is really.

Well. Hot.

Mizutani realizes that his ear is pressed up against the door now, and this is wrong, isn’t it, it’s so wrong and he should stop because he’s getting hard and the homework and- and-

Fuck it, he’s going in.

With a gulp he peels himself away and raps on the door a few times, pulling his shirt down so as to hide his embarrassing state of being.

After a few moments the door opens to a flushed but fully dressed Izumi.

“Oh,” he says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Mizutani replies and hopes that his voice didn’t crack.

“No offense, but like. Why are you here?” Oh god he sounds grumpy. Probably because he was just interrupted in the middle of- just like Mizutani interrupts himself before he can finish that thought. For his own safety.

“Uh, r-right! Homework. Because, sick.”

Izumi takes the papers with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, thanks,” he says, looking up at Mizutani with that obvious you-should-probably-leave-now kind of look.

“So,” _I’m not leaving why the hell am I not leaving_ “What are you up to?”

Izumi smirks, “I’m sick.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Mizutani continues to stand in the doorway, letting the silence drag on, until finally Izumi sighs and says “Do you wanna, like, come in or something?”

He steps aside and Mizutani finally walks through the doorway, shutting the door on his way in. “Sorry, it’s just, I think your mom’s worried about you, or something.” Not a total lie, just not the reason he isn’t leaving.

Mizutani drinks this room in. There’s a poster on his wall of some athlete, a few pictures of him and his family on the dresser, a manga or two peeking out from underneath the dresser. Lotion, sitting on his desk and begging to be used. A magazine hastily shoved into his desk, one corner poking out of the drawer. Mizutani gulps.

“It’s fine,” Izumi sighs, “I get it. I just don’t like other people seeing my room is all.”

Mizutani’s goddamn mouth is open before he can stop himself, before he can force himself to leave and choose not to think about all this. “Why not? It seems pretty normal to me,” he says.

“Yeah, well, you’ve been in here all of thirty seconds. Plus, you don’t immediately strip-search the room for porn, unlike the rest of my family.”

After a moment of deliberation in which Mizutani is just flabbergasted, he hears Izumi say “For a lack of a better term, anyways,” and Mizutani can feel his face heat up.

Izumi furrows his eyebrows. “What is it? Did I say something?”

Mizutani shakes his head. “No, no,” he starts, “It’s nothing you said- or did- it’s just- you were- and I-” God, he sounds like Mihashi, “I’m sorry?”

The awkward apology hangs in the air for a moment, before Izumi grins and lets out a chuckle.

“Oh,” he says, like it means nothing at all, “you heard me. Sorry about that.”

“It’s- I mean-”

“Dude, chill. We’re not 12 anymore. It’s not a big deal.”

Except it _is_ a big deal, because Mizutani can’t get that image out of his head, of Izumi with his knees up and his legs spread and his mouth spewing filth, of Izumi heating up from his ears all the way down to his stomach, and _fuck_ if he doesn’t want to actually see it.

“So,” Izumi says, interrupting his inner monologue, “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, do you think you could, like, leave? So I could, you know. Unless, of course, you _want_ to watch.”

Mizutani is still dumbstruck, maybe awestruck, at the mere suggestion. He doesn’t want to watch Izumi get off, because that would be weird and awkward and why the heck would he even say that, but he’s not leaving. He’s not entirely sure he can. He almost misses how Izumi’s voice had lilted like he was joking, maybe to lighten the already awkward mood, or how his eyebrows are raised now in some kind of realization. Mizutani definitely doesn’t miss the way Izumi’s mouth draws up into a sinister smirk.

Mizutani swears as he’s watching that he can see him lick his lips a little, but before he knows for sure Izumi has already turned and sat on his bed. “I’m not hearing a no,” Mizutani hears.

Mizutani opens his mouth to speak but his throat is dry and useless. Izumi’s scooted back against the wall, pulling his feet up on the bed with him, his knees up, with his legs- not spread, not really, but open just enough that Mizutani would be able to see the bulge if he looked between them. (Not that he hasn’t seen it already, out of the corner of his eye, resisting the urge to stare.)

And then Izumi is- holy shit- is palming himself, a hand over his clothed crotch, never breaking eye contact as he lets out soft little moans that should be illegal.

He’s teasing him, baiting him, trying to get a reaction out of him. Mizutani knows that, and yet, he finds himself drawn to the chair directly in front of and facing the bed, suddenly so much in a trance that he doesn’t know or care how that got there. When he sits, it’s like his center of gravity has shifted, though he can’t quite tell where. Definitely no longer where it should be.

But that doesn’t really matter, does it? Right now Mizutani is bewitched, spellbound, and the movements of Izumi’s hand are the spell. The only thing in Mizutani’s mind is the slow drag of the zipper of Izumi’s jeans, down, down, taking hours to reach its destination. And when it finally does, the grin on Izumi’s face makes it clear he plans to make this a show, to make every movement count.

His grin falters, however, when his hips thrust into his palm inadvertently, and he _whines_ , and it’s just about the hottest thing Mizutani has ever heard. And then that’s it, he’s either got to shove his hand in his own pants or run out of the room with the biggest hard-on he’s had in his life, and one of those options is significantly more appealing than the other.

Maybe Izumi noticed, because he shoves his boxers down without hesitation and starts stroking, faster but still too slow. His breath comes out in ragged puffs, the rise and fall of his chest accelerating, and then he pauses for just a moment to let out a small, high little “Mm-!”

Then it’s like a dam is broken, like whatever was holding Izumi back has burst and he’s jerking himself as fast and as loud as he can. “Fuck,” he says in between half-moaning gasps, “Aah, shit! _Fuck,_ yeah.”

Mizutani is falling apart; there’s only so much friction he can get trying to palm himself, what with that many layers of clothes under his fingertips. And he keeps noticing things, like how he wants to drink up the line of spit running down Izumi’s chin, like how he wants to bat away Izumi’s hand and feel for himself, and it's too much. It’s just too much-

But Mizutani is exhausted, he’s tired of waiting. He’s willing to beg if that’s what it takes.

“Please,” he hears himself say.

“I’m sorry,” Izumi replies, slowing his hand only slightly, “what was that?”

“Please, Izumi.”

Maybe Izumi likes the way his name was said, wanton and desperate, with an aching need, because he groans.

“What,” Izumi pants, hand moving faster, slicker, “you like that? You think you deserve a fucking-” he pauses to moan, high and stupidly hot, “That I should get _you_ off?”

He says it like the idea is so below him that he can’t dignify it with an actual answer. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Spreading- _fuck_ \- spreading your legs for anyone. Fucking slut.”

Which is ridiculous, Izumi’s the one spreading his legs, Izumi’s the one enjoying himself to the fullest, but somehow Mizutani still feels dirty and it still hits him right in the groin like nothing else and god _damn_ how much more of this can he take?

“Please,” he says, “Please, Izumi, please _please_ -”

“Please what?”

“Help me come, please, this is unbearable-”

Mizutani feels something push his hand away and then a pressure in between his legs, moving up and down, stroking and pressing and _ohgod_

“Really, dumbass, all you had to do was ask.”

They slow down. Izumi keeps fucking his hand but has to balance it out with massaging Mizutani’s dick with his foot, his _fucking_ foot.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Izumi says, condescending but so tempting.

“Can you call me a s-” Mizutani groans as Izumi presses harder. It shouldn’t feel that good, honestly, but fuck. _Fuck._

“P-please,” he continues, “Please, call me a- a slut again, please, _please_ ,”

The word doesn’t even feel right in his mouth anymore, like it’s some foreign terminology instead of the one thing that might let him finish.

“Slut,” the barked word almost makes him come on the spot, “Such a fucking slut. Getting off on just my foot, disgusting.”

Mizutani feels that heat rising, wet and glorious, it shakes his whole body, and before he knows it he’s thrusting into Izumi’s foo,t spewing out things like “Fuck, there, yes,” and “Oh god, I think I’m gonna-” but mostly just “Please, please, please,” again and again like some oversaturated prayer he’s supposed to recite before he dies.

And then the heat peaks, and the insides of his pants are now wet and uncomfortable, and suddenly that analogy isn’t terribly far from the truth.

Izumi seems to have completely forgotten about Mizutani or the foot still pressed up against him, is now so completely focused that every curse and grunt and groan isn’t said as a tease but a genuine reaction. Mizutani’s already spent but even he can appreciate the sight.

And then Izumi comes with a moan, white liquid getting on his hand and arm and a bit on his shirt.

They’re both panting, letting the dull hum of the ceiling fan creep into them as the full weight of what happened dawns on Mizutani.

He just creamed his pants, rubbing off on Izumi’s foot and watching Izumi get off. And he _liked_ it.

Oh God, did he like it.

“Okay,” says Izumi, “Wow, uh, are you-”

“I guess this means you’re feeling better, right?” Mizutani mutters before he can stop himself.

Izumi looks at him for a moment, eyes wide, and then he starts laughing.

“Honestly, you’re an idiot.”

Mizutani feels his face heat up for some odd reason. “Why- you- why did you even-”

Izumi shrugs. “Because I like you, I guess.”

They make eye contact, Izumi searching for a reply or maybe just a reaction. It’s hard to tell if he’s joking or being serious. In fact, there’s a high possibility he’ll choose which one based on how Mizutani responds.

_“Unless, of course, you_ want _to watch.”_

Suddenly, things make a lot more sense.

“I...” Mizutani shiffles through his words, somehow managing not to completely fall over himself, “I guess I like you too, then.”

Izumi beams for a split second, but switches to an indifferent huff. “Cool,” he says, and Mizutani isn’t an expert at people-reading, but he can hear the smile he’s trying to restrain.

**Author's Note:**

> there we go, my first attempt at writing porn..... its harder (haha) than you'd think  
> this is honestly so self-indulgent that it's basically self-insert. i, like mizutani, am incredibly thirsty for izumi, and i even included all my filthy little kinks. the kinkshamer has become the kinkshamed  
> happy finals week


End file.
